Masks 2

Orla popped out of the ship. Puberty alone could DEFINITELY not alone explain the rapid change in her since the last time she'd met a bunch of heroes at once. An extra foot and a bit. Muscles, lithe, a build that screamed elegant swift power, that fit the set of gleaming amazonian armour, the short sword at her hip, a spear that caught the light with magic and craftsmanship and a bronze-coloured shield over an arm. It was slightly off by the still chipper face. Despite the life behind it, there was a small, youthful smile still behind the mass of freckles and ginger frizz as she looked to Nimue, away from all the... off, world's kinda messed up.

"Good to see you again so soon Nimue. Shame about the context."

She gave a wider grin and enthusiastic wave at the others, especially those familiar from about a year or so ago, which was a good amount of them. Wow, good job guys surviving this dangerous career.